A Laird for All Time (6 page)

Surely not!

Emmy wandered around the smaller family parlor as the ladies chatted with one another.  The men had not yet returned to the parlor but were instead enjoying brandy and cigars after dinner, Dorcas had explained when asked.  Emmy did not know Connor too well, but hoped he was not in there smoking.  Just the thought almost made her nauseous.  She shuddered.  Lord, she hoped not!

Surveying the parlor, Emmy noted
the ladies had broken apart and were seated in several different groups, drinking yet more tea.  One of the younger cousins was playing the grand piano in the corner while another accompanied with her on a nearby harp.  The softly played music was a pleasant backdrop to the buzz of conversation.

Though
Emmy was given many curious stares, no one tried to engage her in conversation.  Not surprising but, wondering what a Victorian gentlewoman talked about in her spare time, Emmy drew closer to a group to listen.  One of the older ladies, Connor’s Aunt Millie, she thought, was relating a story of her youth and mentioning how her mother had died when Millie was just sixteen.  “It was difficult enough when she died but even more so entering into marriage with no mother to guide me.”

“What did she
die of, Millie?” Emmy asked with an academic curiosity as to what the causes of death were to young women in the nineteenth-century. 

“I beg your pardon?”
the older woman asked, twisting to face Emmy.

“I’m sorry,” Emmy apologized.  “I wasn’t trying to be rude.  I was just curious
about the cause of her death.  I’m sure it must have been hard on you, losing your mom.  I know because my mom died when I was nineteen.  She had breast cancer.”

The ladie
s’ gossip all fluttered to a halt. As a flock, they turned to Emmy.  “I know,” she nodded feeling all their eyes on her, “it was terrible.  She had to have a double mastectomy early on.”  Brows drew together on several ladies’ faces.  “She had both breasts removed,” she explained quickly, drawing more gasps.  “Years of chemo and treatments, but in the end…”

“
I’m sorry, dear, I must have misunderstood you.  What did you say?” Aunt Millie asked, raising a hand to halt Emmy’s detailing of her mother’s cancer treatments.

“I said my mother
died of breast cancer and had both breasts removed,” Emmy repeated in a loud slow voice, wondering if the woman was hard-of-hearing.

A low murmur went around the
room, the music stopped and Millie fanned herself frantically.  Puzzled, Emmy frowned at them.  “What? Oh, I know breast cancer used to have this shameful taboo about it, not to be talked about, but we are all modern women, aren’t we?” She waved her hand dismissively but remembered that as recently as the 1950’s and 60’s, breast cancer had been a subject rarely discussed.  It had once been considered ridiculously shameful or some such nonsense, she recalled now.

A hush sett
led on the room and the women’s eyes turned to the doorway. Emmy turned as well to find Connor glowering at her from the doorway.  He cocked his finger at her, signaling she should follow him out of the room.  Still oddly intrigued by the upset among the ladies, Emmy followed him out the door.

Connor took her by the elbow and ushered her farther down the hall until they were out of earshot.  Leaning back against the wall, Emmy watched with some amusement as he tried to figure out what to say.
“My dear, I understand that ye ha’ been away for some time, perhaps even away from polite society for that time, but surely ye havenae forgotten how to make civil conversation?”

“It’s a disease, Connor, nothing more shocking than that
.  I know it used to be kept a secret like there was some personal shame in being so afflicted but, really!” she humored him.

“
I dinnae believe it was yer reference to the disease in and of itself that has upset them,” he rebuked her casual absurdity.

“
What? Breast cancer… Breast?  This isn’t about some absurd Victorian sensibility about body parts, is it?” Emmy joked, thinking such a thing could not seriously disturb him.

“T
his is nae laughing matter, Heather.” He waved her off as she started to deny the name. “A lady converses upon the weather and social events.  I cannae ha’ ye speaking of such crudities in front of the ladies of this house.”

“
Crudities?  How can you even say that?  It isn’t a crudity; it is a body part, a breast!”

“Heather!”

Emmy cupped her breasts in her own hands and insisted, “Breasts, Connor.  Body parts. Basic anatomy.”

“Heather
, I am warning ye…”

“
I am not Heather!  I am Emmy MacKenzie and I am a doctor, an OB for crying out loud!  A breast is a breast is a breast and I’ll be damned if I’m going to pussyfoot around basic anatomy to cater to the ‘tender sensibilities’ of a bunch of women who need to get out and get a life!” she snapped right back at him.

“Ye
will stop this!” he barked.

Emmy glared at him for a brief moment and
then rolled her eyes.  “Breast, breast, breast, breast…” she childishly chanted as she rocked her head back and forth with each syllable.  “Breast, breast, breast…”

My God, she was exasperating, Connor thought, difficult, a wee bit annoying
, and utterly delicious in her indignation.  When had she begun to be so outspoken?  And to keep saying it over and over?  Each reiteration of the word in question focused his attentions away from the offense to the ladies of his house and more entirely on the aforementioned body part still cupped in her hands.  Her breasts cupped in her own hands. The word pounded through his head.  “Breast, breast…”  Her breasts were
magnificent,
he thought.  Large, full and ripe. 

What he wanted w
as those breasts in his own hands.  Without conscious thought, he reached for them.

Emmy squawked to a halt as Connor’s big hands cupped her breasts roughly.  He pushed her up against the wall, pinning her there with his body as his rough fingers kneaded her flesh.  Stunned, she let the heat of his caress flood through her and heedlessly leaned into him.  Staring down into her wide-eyed surprise, Connor was shocked by his own actions, but more so by her acceptance.  She did not protest.  Indeed her eyes grew warm and her hands covered his as if to hold them there.  He pressed against her more fully, reveling in the contact of their hips and thighs.  Nuzzling her neck, Connor inhaled, savoring the intoxicating perfume she wore.  Most women he knew wore the scent of a single extract, roses, lavender, but her scent was an exotic blend of citrus, floral and spice, light and heady.  Complex, just as she was.

Connor leaned back and met her eyes once more,
recognized her arousal and his own. She licked her lips as if to prepare for his kiss and suddenly he wanted nothing more.  “Heather, my love,” he whispered huskily.

Harsh reality
settled on Emmy as she realized what he said and where they were. 
What was she thinking?
  She couldn’t believe she was allowing a near stranger to fondle her and in a hallway where anyone could see them as well!  Granted it had been years since she had been held in strong male arms, years she since had felt desire.  With this man, she felt it in spades and wanted oh so badly to be wrapped in his strength, to feel his passion.  Madness!  He thought her his wife, absent these past ten years!  He didn’t want her, he wanted his Heather!

Emmy drew in a
shaky breath.  Shifting away slightly, she wriggled out of his arms and then turned back to him. She found she couldn’t meet his eyes as embarrassment washed over her.  “Well, that was… um…” Words couldn’t describe.  “Well then, we’re agreed, I guess.  I won’t say words that disturb other people and you won’t… do what you were doing.”  Her eyes drifted over the ceiling, walls, anywhere but him.  “Agreed? Um… good.  Good night then.” Emmy backed away to the stairs before turning to flee up them. 

She didn’t look back until she reached the top.  Pausing to
glance over her shoulder, she saw him waiting at the bottom of the stairs, one foot on the lowest tread as if he were going to follow.  When their eyes met, Emmy was burned by the passion she read there.  She hesitated.  She could feel his want and desire even from the distance.  Years of loneliness washed over her, and she knew she wanted him as well. She could either open her arms to it and embrace it or run like the nervous chicken that quivered inside her.

She ran.

Once in her room, Emmy flung herself on the bed in a tangle of skirts and, closing her eyes, moved her hands to where his were moments ago.  Her breasts felt swollen and tingling, her lust was high and aching and she knew that, for the first time in her life, she’d be willing to have sex with a man she’d just met.  This is where one-night stands came from, she thought.  This kind of insanity.

But then, she couldn’t imagine one
mere night satisfying the desire she felt.  Emmy pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and groaned.  “I am such a fool!”  Connor didn’t want her, Emmy, he wanted his wife.  Oh, but she wanted him more than she had ever wanted a man, more than she could ever have
imagined
wanting a man.  Right or wrong, she wasn’t sure if she would be able to fight it.

Connor stood at the door that separated her bedchamber from their shared parlor, his hand raised, ready to knock. This was madness, he thought as he drew his hand back in a frustrated fist.  He shouldn’t want her so badly!  Where was his anger?  Where was the wrath that had burned within him these past ten years?  He had chased her across continents when she had fled, not because he had loved her but rather because he had wanted to bring her back here and publicly divorce her.  He had wanted her humiliation in exchange for his.  He wanted to watch her suffer as he once did.

Where was that vengeance now?  Lost in the face of overwhelming lust?  When he had seen Heather at his front gates yesterday, he would have thought that he would gladly put her to a trial by fire for her sins of the past.  Instead, he had lifted her into his arms, stared down into her lovely face
and felt almost sorry that he had frightened her.  He had wanted insanely to protect her and had been more angered by himself than her in that moment.

Though Connor knew
the mere sight of her should still enrage him, he knew only that he wanted to hold her and shelter her.  He wanted to make love to her, passionately, tenderly.  Madness, he thought again.

“I ha’
lost my mind,” he murmured aloud and raised his fist again to knock upon her door.  By all rights, he could go in and have her, knowing that she wanted him as well.  She had responded to his touch.  Had welcomed it, even.  But as he started to reach for the door, he knew he couldn’t do it.  So much had changed. 
She
had changed.  He felt drawn to her in ways he had never imagined, much less experienced.  Apart from her crazy insistence that she was not who everyone knew she was, Heather was a much deeper person today than she had been ten years ago.  Maybe that maturity and this attraction were worth exploring.

He pushed away from the door and headed to his room.

The sound of metal scraping against brick woke Emmy late the next morning to find Margo in her room, stoking the fire.  The room was cold and felt as damp as the cold October air outside probably did. .

“Ugh,” Emmy moaned
, rolling over.  She had barely slept last night.  Desire and unsatisfied lust had kept her awake for most of it.  Other troubling thoughts had kept her tossing and turning for the rest.  How did she get here?  How was she supposed to get back?  What was she supposed to do about Connor?  Here was a troubled guy who a little basic therapy could probably do a world of good for.  She had the feeling that underneath all that angst and anger was a romantic; a really great guy who just wanted someone to love, and be loved in return.  She wondered what it would be like to be that lucky woman.  What it would be like to have a man of such strong emotions direct love in your direction?  Probably the most fulfilling feeling in the world, she thought, and she found she envied the woman who might someday be the recipient of that devotion.

Emmy groaned again at her idiocy.  What was she thinking?  She’d only known the man for one day, for Pete’s sake!
  It was just lust!  She didn’t want anything more than that!  Her heart rebelled with a lurch and she felt an overwhelming urge to save Connor from himself. For herself.

“Margo, what time is it?”

“A bit after noon, milady,” the maid answered.  “Mrs. MacLean said I should let ye sleep since ye had traveled and such.  But luncheon is to be served soon and ye’ll want to be up for that.”

Remembering the never-ending parade of food that had
comprised the five-course dinner the night before, Emmy stifled yet another moan.  Too much food!  She couldn’t eat like that every meal of every day.  She’d weigh as much as a horse in no time.  “I don’t suppose it would be possible to just get a bowl of cereal around here?”

“
Milady?”

“Nothing, nothing.”  Emmy finger
-combed her long hair as she climbed out of bed, allowing Margo to help her into a robe and shoving her feet into some slippers to keep them off the cold floor.  “Why do you keep calling me that, anyway?” she asked on her way to the bathroom.

“
Milady?” Margo questioned.  “‘Tis only proper.  Ye are the countess after all.”

“Ah
, that’s right.” Emmy stared at herself in the mirror and wrinkled her nose.  Her eyes were rimmed red with dark circles below.  She looked as bad as she felt.  The countess.  It had an ominous ring to it.  Of course, in this time and place, the earl and countess didn’t even share a bedroom.  If she
were
the countess in truth…

Emmy drew herself up short
, rejecting the thought.  That was not what she wanted!  She had her new job waiting for her at a women’s clinic in Baltimore, a job that she had worked hard and sacrificed much for.  There was a new life as a practicing physician before her.  She had plans!

“
Mrs. MacLean and Susan will be arriving shortly wi’ more gowns for ye to choose from.  The laird sent for the seamstress to come later this week to fit ye wi’ some clothes of yer own,” Margo went on, unaware of Emmy’s turbulent thoughts.

He did, huh?

A sharp rap at the door announced the arrival of Dorcas and her maid bearing an armload of clothes.  Emmy moved to help as the young woman  laid the pile on the bed, earning a surprised glance from both women.  “Thanks, Dorcas, I appreciate the loan of the clothes.  I hope I’m not leaving you short in your own closet though.”

“Not at all
,” she replied shortly.  “These are just basic foundations, shirtwaists and skirts for day wear that I am currently unable to wear because of my delicate condition, so there is plenty for you to choose from.”

“Delicate
condition?” Emmy repeated and then frowned at the other woman.  “Oh, you mean your pregnancy?”

Dorcas
flushed hotly.  “Yes, Mr. MacLean and I are expecting our first child.”

Emmy eyed
Dorcas’s figure critically with the eye of an experienced OB.  Well along but with a while to go.  “When are you due then? In the spring?”

“I am not sure, of course, but I expect
perhaps six weeks or so.” Dorcas was still blushing and refusing to meet Emmy’s gaze.

“You don’t know?  Haven’t you seen a doctor?”  Emmy’s eyes widened.  “
Six weeks!  Are you telling me that you are nearly eight months pregnant?”

“This isn’t a topic for polite conversation.”

Waving her off imperiously, Emmy repeated, “Seriously?  Eight months?”

“I believe so
.” Dory frowned at Emmy’s incredulous tone.

“No way!” 
To Emmy’s mind, she didn’t look more than six months pregnant or early in her seventh.  There was no way she was heading into her ninth soon!  A thought struck her. “Dory, are you wearing a corset?”

“Of course!  The correct foundations are critical
…”

“
Dorcas MacLean!” Emmy interrupted in her most superior doctor’s voice.  “You should not be wearing that when you are pregnant!  The baby must have room to grow!  And to not know how far along you are!  To have not seen a doctor! Well!” Emmy flung her hands in outrage.  “
I
will examine you then!”

“What
?”

“What
?” the maids echoed incredulously.

Emmy ignored them
all.  “Dory, I am a Johns-Hopkins trained doctor.  I deliver babies and take care of expectant mothers for a living.  It’s what I do.  You must let me check to make sure you are doing alright. Especially if you have been wearing that corset for what? Almost eight months?”

Dorcas
backed uneasily toward the door.  “I don’t think…”

Emmy grinned an evil little grin.  “But surely you trust your own sister to help you, don’t you?”

Dory fled, but Emmy was determined to win in the end.  Imagine not having basic health care during pregnancy!  And if there were no doctors nearby, it made her wonder what they did in cases of basic illness.  Did they even have aspirin yet? 

Emmy peppered
Margo and Susan with those questions as they dressed her in the daily wear similar to that she had seen Dory in that first day.  A high-necked blouse which Emmy refused to button all the way up, a dark blue wool skirt under which Emmy allowed only one petticoat, and no corset! And her own boots rather than the torturous, skinny-toed little shoes they presented.  It would have to do, Emmy thought.  She was not in this for the long haul and refused to suffer the constraint of that corset any more than she had to.  She had had to call for help last night just to get ready for bed, for Christ’s sake!

Emmy went down for lunch
an hour later and was disappointed to learn that Connor rarely joined the others for any meal other than dinner.  She wondered where and what he ate. She sat through three formal courses, picking here and there between the heavy sauces to the fish and vegetables as they came along.  .  She did her best to eat a moderate portion, remembering that an even larger meal would follow that night. She was thankful to have been seated near Dory where she could pester her freely.

“You really shouldn’t keep that corset cinched up all the time,” Emmy told her firmly.  “It isn’t good for that baby and I am telling you right now; it must stop.”

“I have been having pains when I do not wear it,”
Dory confessed, though clearly uncomfortable with the conversation.  “They frighten me.  It seemed easier this way.”

Emmy
took Dory’s hand compassionately.  “Sure, it might be easier, but don’t you want to have a healthy baby, Dory?”

“Of course I do,
” Dory whispered.  After an anxious glance around to make sure no one could overhear her, added, “but Ian hasn’t visited me since I found out.  I don’t want to appear even more unattractive to him,” she protested, blushing furiously over her confession.

“Visited you?  Oh
!” The realization struck Emmy as Dory flushed scarlet.  Really, Dory was a bit of a… well, prig, wasn’t she?  Stereotypical Victorian.  Emmy chewed thoughtfully on a bit of bread. “How long have you been married to Ian?” she asked, trying to backpedal from the topic that made Dory so uncomfortable.

“Almost nine years now,” she replied
, clearly thankful for the change of subject.  “I came here shortly after Heather left; after my father died.  Ian and I married almost immediately.”

“So you’ve been married for nine years and this is your first pregnancy?” 

Dory shook her head uncomfortably.  “Well, no. I have lost three babies before this one.”

“Well, I would wager that Ian’s reluctance to ‘visit’ you has less to do with your appearance and more to do with fear.”

“Fear?”

“Naturally he’s afraid that any intercourse between you might prompt another miscarriage
.” Emmy rolled her eyes.  “Men are such morons.  Dory, I’ll talk to Ian…”

“Oh, you mustn’t!” she protested
, glancing fearfully up the table at her husband.

“Oh, I must,” Emmy countered
firmly.  “I will help you take care of yourself and help him take care of you too.  Stressing out over this thing with Ian isn’t going to help you carry this one to term.”

“Oh, dear,” Dory muttered
, twisting her napkin in her lap.

“After nine years of marriage, Ian can surely accept that pregnancy will change your bo
dy if he loves you enough.”  Emmy paused, considering that idea.  This was another century after all.  “Does he?  Do you?  I mean, did you marry for love or some misguided arranged thing?”

“I loved Ian the moment I saw him,” she declared
sincerely.  “And I know he feels the same.”

“Well, I’ll talk to him then,”
Emmy assured her with a professionally compassionate pat on her hand.  “In the meantime, I’ll work on a diet and exercise schedule for you that will work with what’s available here and, of course, I will have to examine you at some point.  But, I’m serious – no more corsets.”

“I must wear something, um
, Heather,” she looked uncomfortable for the first time addressing her as such.

“Leave that to me,” Emmy assured her.  “I think I have an idea that might do the trick.”

After luncheon, Emmy gathered Margo and Susan into her room.  Taking one of Dory’s older corsets, she had the maids first remove the steel boning. With a few quick sketches and a visual demonstration on her own bra, Emmy showed them how they could convert the corset into a short bustier that was secured by a shorter series of lacing up the back.  It extended only a few inches below the bust but gave Dory’s bosom the support that Emmy was sure that Dory would never go without under her white blouses. Combined with a heavier chemise, perhaps it would provide enough layers to allow Dory enough security to forgo the corset.